


Cause of Death: Desolation

by ScripturePerfect99



Category: Original Work
Genre: Canon LGBTQ Character, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Trans Character, Developing Friendships, Gay Pride, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Multiple Personalities, Native American Character(s), Nonbinary Character, Other, Polyamory, Queer Themes, Sports, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScripturePerfect99/pseuds/ScripturePerfect99
Summary: F.Y.I: THIS IS A NOVEL IN PROGRESS. THESE CHAPTERS ARE A SERIES OF DRAFTS. NOTHING IS SET IN STONE. THE CHRONOLOGICAL TIMING OF EVENTS MAY CHANGE IF THE STORY CALLS FOR IT.Loneliness is part of life just as water and pain. But too much of it can leave you wounded or dead. Dakota Tyler, nicknamed Fox Feet, has suffered chronic loneliness since they left Kansas to find their closest cousin, River in Seattle, Washington. They find themselves trapped in a loop in a city they never wanted to be in, causing their self-talk to become toxic and unpredictable. But working a usual shift at the local thrift store, Dakota finds a rowdy band of volleyball players messing around who envelop the very thing Dakota needs the most. Follow Dakota Tyler on their journey of self-love and romance as they allow themselves to feel what they've never felt before: Loved.
Kudos: 1





	1. The Psychological Void of Dakota Tyler

Life is repayment. You’re still in someone’s debt. The sweaty underbelly of America knows this and no one knows it better than the Tyler family. Fox Feet’s family.  
To this poor kid, there’s nothing more revolting than being associated with that band of complacent failures, then again, they would say that the gene pool they share is a failure of nature and society all at once. The Tylers call themselves the most noble of the creetins of Kansas because Grandpa Mike went ahead and started a car dealership that followed him six-feet underground due to his incompetent son. They use this six year reign as an excuse for standing on the soap box and yelling about it to every other country bumpkin family within 50 miles. But no one really gives a shit.  
Dad was the failure type of Tyler. He was a jobless corn turd that drank fifty dollar beer and blamed his kid for not helping out around the house and slapped his wife’s ass in front of the little cousins. A balding ginger that was beginning to physically embody his spirit animal: a mediocre clown at best and a dead muskrat that died from type 1 diabetes at worst. Mosquitos were more useful than him, at least they kept you on your toes and had a punishment that was either uncomfortable or deadly. He was about as threatening as roadkill. But low and behold, he was the one who first called his kid “Fox Feet”.  
Self-acclaimed competence coupled with a shiny apathetic shell, Fox Feet shared Dad’s ginger hair, fine and thin at the ends, swooping delicately over their forehead so they wouldn’t ever fear balding, eyes that stole the chlorophyll from the prairie across the way and skin that burned and freckled in the threatening Kansas sun. Mama took pride in her only kid receiving the features of a malnourished school girl instead of inheriting her cowgirl thighs and ass that fat rodeo clowns would slap around. Fox Feet hid in the comfort of thrift store hoodies and hand-me-down jeans from various cousins so they wouldn’t have to deal with that.  
Dad settled on “Fox Feet” because his kid barely put any weight into their walking, like they were sneaking around. Always. A fox tryna hide from the hunters. If you want literary depth, they would say it’s accurate. Fox Feet always managed to sneak up on him, scaring the beer out of the can and right onto his nicest A-shirt that he hasn’t changed in 4 months. It didn’t help that their voice was hushed from self-hatred and dainty from puberty, contrary to Mama’s which was, for lack of a better word, brash and bitchy.  
Any nickname Fox Feet would’ve gotten from the rest of the family would be a creative string of slurs that Fox Feet’s moral compass forbids them to repeat. The only good thing Mama did was raise them to respect others and forgive as Jesus would. We say please and thank you, we go to church and sit when we are told to be seated.  
Unless of course, you were a faggot. Then you could burn in the pit of Satan’s blazing bonfire where he roasts the queers and eats them like grapes. Fox Feet isn’t sure of the accuracy of that statement. Satan didn’t need to eat. And it sounded too cruel to actually be written in the Bible, God’s word, the Lord’s law, excetera. Wasn’t God all hyped about love? According to Fox Feet’s family, all those good-for-nothin’ sinners were going to suffer a fiery eternity.  
Fox Feet, Dad and Mama lived with Dad’s sister, Auntie, who was a result of Grandma getting too excited on Christmas with cousin Ed. Auntie had pathetic, lazy eyes that were yellowed and crusty, overflowing ashen skin that never stayed in jeans so she always wore $8 sun dresses. She smelled like burnt hair and moldy bath water. Fox Feet calls her Auntie Fat Lip but never out loud, otherwise they’d have to face the wrath of her fat fucking lips spewing out wannabe white Jesus nonsense like a cat screaming for its dinner. You can either throw the cat outside or submit to it’s demands, and since Auntie’s lips weren’t the only lumbering fat on her body, Fox Feet tunes her out by thinking of creative ways to tie corn stems into a noose to hang themselves with.  
Auntie has a son named River, Fox Feet’s older cousin and the only Tyler that uses his real name. Despite his mother, he’s quite beautiful; strawberry blond hair that cowlicks in just the right places takes over his whole head, kept up and out of his eyes by a sky blue bandana. A pleasantly crooked smile that could light up a room and green eyes that shine in the sun like Fox Feet’s. Neither of them had ever seen a beach, but Fox Feet imagined that both they and River were the color of the sea’s pale sand under the depths of blue. They shared their eyes and their skin with someone who found pleasantry in this town of mundane nightmares. River was happy all the time, especially when he got to hang out with his little cousin. Sometimes, too much for Fox Feet. They’d get annoyed by his antics easily. But they’d drag their feet along anyway since he was taller with arms and legs like uncooked pale spaghetti, so he could easily scoop them up like a rebellious kitten out into the fields.  
The only task that the Tylers were good at was plowing, shucking and maintaining the lush cornfields just a dirt road across from their house. When Fox Feet was little, when they were still called Carolina, they would run through the freshly cut fields barefoot with River, the two little munchkins hand in hand. Even after church, in their Sunday best, Mama let them run around in the dirt without their church shoes, the grass tickling the delicate skin under their feet, dewey grass soaking their little fingers and toes. River would spin around with Carol until little bare feet lifted off the ground and it felt like she was flying. They both had a lot more freckles back then. The dewey sweetness of the grass and the baby corn in the Kansas sun kissed Carol like Mama did before she could talk. Before she could doubt herself.  
Out here, in the green after the rain, in the beige as the wind blows the leaves away, in the white snow, it was all the same sense of alright. It was alright here. Just a few strides from the chipped cobalt paint and cigarettes to the freshly cut stretch of peace. Miles upon miles of potential indulgence, only blocked off by the untamed maize beyond where Fox Feet could see. Here in the ever-expanding sea of baby daisies, ladybugs and thick blades of green, River taught Fox Feet to make flower crowns and corn scepters, here he taught them to make secret tunnels when the snow was too deep. Here he hugged them under the summer sun, counting the freckles on their nose after Dad made them cry.  
The dry grass tickled their ankles as River pulled his cousin through the field. It was a little dry this summer, making Fox Feet regret not having a bandana of their own to lift the locks of auburn sticking to their forehead. River plopped down on the ground, pulled out a few long green strands from the Earth and started to weave one of his signature flower crowns, picking tiny daisies from around his boots. Fox Feet stood and stared at their cousin, cross-legged in bright blue jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with the faded logo of the Tyler Car company. Fox Feet could see the focus in his face, his nose scrunched up as his bitten up fingers carefully slipped one blade of grass under and over another.  
He felt his cousin staring and chuckled calmly. “Go ahead and try it, Foxy! It ain’t that hard, just tie ‘em together instead of one at a time!”  
“Don’t call me that,” They sneered, crossing their arms. “An’...what if it rips?”  
“That’s a’right! Look around ya!” He’d spin in the field. “We got all the grass in the world to practice on!”  
Fox Feet watched a few daisies get crushed under his feet. “I don’t think high school kids do this kinda thing…”  
“Well, ya got one more year before you’re a high school kid!” He laughed, slapping their back. “Make the best of it. Besides, as long as Ma still calls me her baby, I’ll take it over ‘sir’ any day!”  
Fox Feet wasn’t much of a smiler, River did that enough for the both of them, but somethin’ about being kids forever sparked a twitch in their face muscles. It was every kid’s dream at some point. Not having to grow up like Peter Pan in his picture book.  
“Ya know somethin’...?” Fox Feet slowly lowered themselves to the ground, the grass poking through their sweatpants.  
A piece of grass snapped in his grip. “Damn.Wha’s the somethin’?”  
“We live in a shitty cubby hole,” Fox Feet hid their eyes with their increasingly sweaty hair. “Like mice in a trap, we can’t get out unless we get some help.”  
River tilted his head like a stupid mutt. “Yeah, well…”  
Fox Feet crossed their arms, dark brown eyebrows frowning, waiting for him to come up with a tooth-rottingly positive answer that would surely make them hiss in disdain.  
But all he said was: “I ain’t stayin’ here forever, Cous. I don’ wanna end up like-”  
“My dad?” Fox Feet chimed in.  
“Well...he ain’t got it that bad-”  
Fox Feet rolled their eyes so hard the ivy marbles practically retreated to the back of their head. Yeah. Jobless, poor, hates his kid, molests his wife, lives with his good for nothing sister and doesn’t even acknowledge his nephew most of the time.  
River hopped to his feet, proudly lifting his handiwork to the sun.“I mean, if I could have a kid like you, I don’t think I’d be complainin’!”  
Fox Feet fought a smile. “That’s already better than him. But you know Auntie would never let you leave.”  
“Birds gotta fly outta the nest at some point.”  
“Or they fuck each other…” They muttered.  
River burst into laughter, throwing himself onto his back in the grass, Fox Feet panicking at the distance between him and the ground. “I don’t think Imma have that problem…”  
Fox Feet rose their eyebrows but as memory returned, they remembered a loud voice that shared their body type. “Oh. Yeah.” They hugged their knees. River has a girlfriend at school. Joshi. She’s nice. She’s pretty. She isn’t too much, but is just enough for River, at least that's what Fox Feet could gage from the two interactions they’ve had with her. She was a senior at River’s school, lookin’ to go to that tech school in the city. She’s what Fox Feet would be if they were a brunette and actually liked the sight of their own body. And was technologically competent.  
He picked a few blades and chuckled. “Ya know somethin’, Cous?”  
The floor isn’t creaky, not in the Tyler house. Mama hates unnecessary noise. The stairs were carpeted so no one’s feet would make a sound when headin’ up or down if Mama was nappin’. That helped when leavin’ out the front door early in the morning. Or during laughable hours of the night. Left of the stairs, there was the dining room, wood floor polished to perfection, dusty ol’ mantle with baby pictures of Carolina, of River and even of Mama and Dad. Next to those were old photos of dead folks that Fox Feet never met but Mama reassured them that they met when Fox Feet was Carolina. The water stained dining table where all the prayers and the Jesus and the Bible were mentioned and mutilated by the Tyler’s repulsive mouths during cheap chicken weeks and corn soup Saturdays. It wasn’t easy to sneak into the dining room with bare feet, so Fox Feet had to wear socks. To the right of the stairs, however, was the family room.  
“You’re not a normal high school kid,” Fox Feet interrupted him. “You go to that shitty private school that makes the Bible easier to swallow since they’ll be breakin’ your jaw to hold your mouth open.”  
“Hey now! It ain’t that bad.”  
He always said that. It ain’t that bad when it’s Hell in disguise. It ain’t that bad to him because he thinks he’s got a future with Joshi. But they’re sixteen and seventeen years old, there’s so much that can happen and completely annihilate their plans. Fox Feet would take Satan’s queer fire pit over promising themselves to anyone in that school. That’s where they train you to hate fags, to act lady-like and to act like a man, to kiss the shiny loafers of your teachers or get sent out. And once ya get sent out, the other kids’ll find you after class and beat God’s word into you. So you gotta submit and find peace there, whether it's you against the school or you and another idiot against the school.  
But the family room was less about family and more about a logical place to argue in front of the T.V about who did the best in ball games, foot or other. Sometimes, when the Tylers really wanted some family time, they’d set up T.V dinners on fold-up tables, the adults sitting on the brown leather couch and the “kids”, River and Fox Feet, sitting on the beer stained floor, dinner set up on the Dad-made center table.  
This is where we have our big fights and drunken Christmas games. Fox Feet clenched their fists, bashing the left against their exposed thighs as their toes rifled through the crusty stained carpet. It was a dry summer again. They were tired of sweating. They were tired of worrying.  
River kept coming home late that summer. He kept making excuses, he kept Fox Feet up at night. They would text Joshi and she’d say “Lol you’re worse than his Mom.” She wasn’t from here. She didn’t understand but she’d always say that.  
He’s my cousin. Of course I’m worried. He’s stupid. More stupid than me. They resisted the urge to pull their phone out to text her again. Joshi always responds. Faster than River, at least.  
Fox Feet’s heart began to race as they thought of the worst. Did he crash the car? Drive off a cliff? Get murdered by one of the townies like in those movies that Mama forbids Fox Feet from even breathing near?  
They slowly stepped towards the front door, tip-toeing to see through the fake stained glass window that made the house look more “country classy.” Their eyes strained through the blurry glass, so they relied on their ears. They heard the engine sputter and growl, kicking up dirt in the driveway. They saw River in the driver’s seat, kissing Joshi on the cheek and sprinting towards the front door. Fox Feet perked up and ran behind the couch, squeezing their puberty-cursed hips between the wall and the furniture.  
The door slammed open. “Okay...okay…” River scanned the stairs, all the way up then back down again, each shaggy strand of carpet shifting into the hard wooden dining room floor. Fox Feet listened to his heavy boot steps as he scoured the mantel, it’s cabinets and under the dining table. Fox Feet poked their head out from the couch slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of what the hell he was doing. They heard him move on to the kitchen right before a loud slam assaulted their ear drums. Fox Feet lowered themselves to the safety of the couch again, covering their ears, face scrunched up in discomfort.  
“God dammit-!” River clenched his teeth. “I don’t got time for this…” He sprinted to the front door, plastic bags filled to the brim with snacks and water bottles. His hand hovered over the doorknob as he scanned the family room one last time. He pursed his lips hard as he gazed at the birth certificate over the couch; Caroline Laura Tyler. He shook his head, tears quietly filling his eyes.  
Fox Feet felt their heart racing as they reluctantly removed their hands from their ears, heartbeat slamming in their brain as they waited for River’s sudden silence to pass. He couldn’t have seen them, there was no way. Why the hell was he just standing there? They peered their head from the couch, appearing as the most non-threatening alligator in the pond of old, cigarette scented furniture. Fox Feet saw their cousin holding the plastic bag in his fists, his big winter jacket over his shoulders as he stared at Carolina’s birth certificate.  
“You been doin’...real good, Cous.” He muttered to himself. “Imma miss you most. I’m sorry.”  
No… Fox Feet frowned, rising to their feet slightly before River sped to the door. They felt a pull on a single heartstring when they realized that their big cousin hadn’t said the name they resent so much. They didn’t like Carolina. They didn’t like Fox Feet. They sure as hell didn’t wanna be called Fox Feet if they ever escaped this place.  
“What’s wrong with the name I gave you?” They heard Mama’s voice in their head.  
“It’s ugly.”  
“If it’s ugly then so are you, because I looked at you and you looked like a-”  
“Ugly.”  
“I ain’t callin’ my only daughter Fox Feet. You take the name I gave you or get out.”  
She was always sayin’ that. I guess that was the only way Fox Feet knew Mama and River were related.  
It was either her way or get out. Eat dinner or get out, wear the dress or get out, sing with the choir or get out. When Fox Feet was Carolina, she took it seriously. Mama didn’t want her if the little kid didn’t do what she said, she was a bad daughter if she didn’t do what she said. She followed everything Mama wanted until Auntie made the mistake of buying her niece a laptop for Christmas.  
“You gotta be smart, Fox Feet!” That’s when Auntie learned their nickname, when their hair was long and always up in a ponytail. “Quick in your brain like how yer quick on yer toes!”  
“Okay…” Fox Feet took the laptop with hesitance but as soon as they opened it, it was like they’d seen the Heaven the church was talkin’ about for the first time. They were twelve then.  
River and Joshi helped them customize it, setting up the background from a boring hilltop to a beautiful collage of stars that happened to be just outside Fox Feet’s bedroom window. It was a musty July night, Fox Feet saw the stars lined up perfectly and River snapped the photo just in time. It’s been his phone wallpaper ever since.  
“There! Now we got somethin’ we can share.”  
Joshi was there too, helping set up the complicated parts of dial-up internet. “Make sure you send it to me! I wanna use it as my wallpaper.”  
River chuckled. “Alright, darlin’. Then it’ll be something we all can share!”  
Fox Feet couldn’t fight the smile. The stars were a cluster of beauty, the moon was full and sweet, practically smiling in the photo. And Fox Feet shared it with two of the nicest people in their family. They were the only one who saw Joshi as family.  
Fox Feet awkwardly scooted towards Joshi on the laptop. “Thanks…”  
She giggled. “Thanks?”  
“So much…”  
She laughed again. “Wow! I never heard you say so many words before, Fox Feet!”  
Fox Feet shrugged. “I don’t like wasting my breath…”  
“Well,” She hit enter on the keyboard. “Now ya don’t have to! You can say whatever you want to me n’ River in the group chat I made for us!”  
“How’s that gonna work with dial-up?”  
She bobbed her head from side to side, her shoulder length hair waving from side to side. “If the internet works, our group chat’ll work.”  
“A’right, you the genius, baby.”  
Fox Feet snickered as they watched Joshi drum on River’s legs and poke him in the ribs. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto him, hugging her tight so she couldn’t move her arms.  
“You know you’re more ticklish than me, ya dingus.”  
“I’ve been exposed!!!” She laughed as he poked her ribs back.  
Fox Feet couldn’t stop smiling, they smiled so big it snuck into their heart, making them cover a giggle with their hoodie sleeved hand.  
Mama hated that Fox Feet had the internet. She hated all the ideas it put into their head, how it distracted them from their schoolwork, how it made Fox Feet cut their hair. Her kid was gonna go to a public high school so she could save up and send them to college and rub it in Auntie’s face. Now, Fox Feet looked like some wannabe-a-man...  
“I wanna go to school with River.”  
“I thought you hated that place,” She cranked the toaster dial a lil’ too hard. “Y’ain’t River and ya never gon’ be River.”  
“So everyone who goes to his school wants to be like him?” They rolled their eyes. “Even Joshi?”  
“You shut up about that. You’re goin’ to S. Grant. That’s final.”  
“I’m not registered so it’s not.”  
She grabbed a handful of Fox Feet’s hair. “You shut it up before I beat some respect right into you.”  
Fox Feet barely even flinched, their scalp was practically numb from getting it pulled. “When was the last time you read the Bible, Ma? Didn’t Jesus say love thy neighbor like you love thyself or whatever…?”  
She shoved them into the counter, knocking the wind out of them. “Jesus did not say ‘or whatever’...”  
“I don’t…” Fox Feet wheezed. “Wanna...go to that shithole.”  
“You think this whole town’s a shithole!”  
“Because I live with the shit stains on jolly ol’ Kansas’ underwear.”  
“You don’t talk to your mother that way!” Dad walked in, a fresh beer in his hand. “You don’t go bitin’ the hand that feeds you.”  
“The hand that feeds me also happens to hit me…”  
A hot sensation took over their face, hotter than the August sun and more suffocating than the humidity. Colors danced around their vision for a moment before they looked at their Mama.  
“Get yer ass to yer room right now. I don’t wanna hear no more a’ this disrespectful talk, ya hear?”  
Fox Feet stared at the dusty wood floor, using every ounce of their strength not to burst into tears or shove a butter knife in their cornea. Mama hasn’t hit them since…  
Well.  
Mama hasn’t really hit them that hard on purpose.  
Fox Feet snuck up to their bedroom, the stairs feeling like the steepest hill they had ever climbed, the master bedroom door gnashing at Fox Feet like two sharp fangs ready to snap them in half. When they finally made it to the top, they saw the chipped paint and the rusty door handle in their peripheral as they turned to the deep dim hallway. There was no fear in their heart until their hand reached for the shiny gold door knob on the wooden door.  
Closing the door without a breath, their knees buckled as they sank to the floor, the shaggy soda stained carpet burning their pale skin. She had never reacted that way before, even when Fox Feet was at their most defiant stage in life. They would challenge her to see how far she’d go, but according to the ministers and the Lord himself, a parent’s love is unconditional. Unless her child is a faggot. Then every excuse is “I’m your mother. You listen to me.” But Fox Feet felt that they were fully aware of the idiocy surrounding them, so they thought they could do something smarter, like fight back.  
Fox Feet stared out the window, their face still hot from the slap and now hotter from the tears. There was one cloud in the sky, a little, pathetic one. The ones you can see right through because they got holes and tears in ‘em. The sky was pink with dusk, an indirect insult to the injury Fox Feet just faced from their mother.  
Mother...  
Bitch.  
Why’d you go on and have a kid so disobedient? Fox Feet thought. That’s your fault. You didn’t raise them right with your clown man. You don’t even know their name, they hate their name, so you just call them “Hey!” or “Get yer as over here…”  
Fox Feet can’t have bad days. They never have bad days, they’re young, they can run in the fields and climb and do all sorts of things that you can’t do. You’re old and sour, their youthful sweetness must be numbed.  
8th grade was ending soon. Then it was high school. S. Grant, where the girl’s bathroom stalls are covered in period blood. Where they throw milk at the dykes, where they choke faggots with bicycle chains. The pain there is temporary, the pain at home is temporary, Fox Feet’s life is temporary. 

2  
The door slammed shut as Fox Feet watched River sprint back to the truck and toss the plastic bag in the back seat. They slowly stepped from sinking carpet to itchy welcome mat, eyes not quite looking through the window, just staring at the door as the truck’s growling was muffled in the distant stars. They stared at the red truck passing the field River dragged them to just a couple of days ago. The moon was full, not a single star in the sky, like the moonlight was meant to spotlight this field in particular. It was like it was calling Fox Feet to run into it, run as far as they could like River and Joshi. Get out. Get away from here. Disappear into the grass and corn.  
“Fox Feet!” Auntie shrieked like Mama did, startling Fox Feet out of their trance. “Fox Feet, you went ahead and scared the Jesus out of me!”  
You’re the second coming then? I don’t see what the big deal is. But that translated into a scowl that set Auntie’s face ablaze with embarrassment. That’s the other useful thing Ma gave to her only kid. Her faggot kid.  
“River is gone.”  
Who are you? Fox Feet taunted in their head. Who do you think you are?  
“Good riddance then! He and that whore ain’t worth nothin’ to us anymore!”  
“I’m not you,” The words stumbled out of their mouth. “Just make another one.”  
“Carol...?”  
“Shut up. Just shut your fat fucking lip.” They opened the door, bare feet stepping on the damp wood deck. It was so easy for her, apparently it was genetic. Cum and done, now you’re a parent. That bundle of useless cells took River away from Fox Feet. It took Joshi too. The two people who acted like they gave a shit, who did give a shit. Those two showed Fox Feet the world through screens and were snatched away by a mess of mistakes and a barely functional zygote.  
Auntie shook her head, stopping the door from closing with her slippered foot. “You little piece of shit...Damn dyke-”  
Fox Feet whipped around suddenly, turning to her with piercing emeralds. “You mean faggot. That’s what they call me at school.”  
Faggot.  
They stepped down the creaky stairs, into the moonlit field where the light would wrap around their exposed skin and hug them like their cousin used to. Like their cousin would never do again. Fox Feet gazed at the distance between them and their runaway family, the grass getting taller, darker, more threatening as the West consumed them. The West was a threat within its very existence; it was tantalizingly close yet so very far away that Fox Feet just couldn’t reach out and grab it.  
Faggot.  
According to what they had read on the internet, no. They weren’t a faggot. Fox Feet actually didn’t know what they were, let alone who they were. They’ve had two names their whole life and wasn’t sure if they were worth the energy of another. But the freshman class of S. Grant insisted that Faggot would be their third name.  
The hot sensation of tears started to cloud their thoughts and drove down their face, signaled by the green that reflected the shaking hands before them. Eyes like growing grass being watered by the pain in their mind space. The sensation of the tears tickled in a pointless way, nothing could bring them to smile in this moment.  
"Do you ever think about how much you hate yourself? How annoying you actually are? How you play coy with Auntie and play dumb with Ma? They work so hard for you.” Fox Feet hissed in their mind. “But you don't care, you just think because you read something on Twitter it makes you better than them, you're not. Even River thinks you're annoying. He's happy to help but you always shut it down like what's the point? Auntie is just gonna say something stupid and you're gonna have a rude snarky comment. River says it's funny but he never laughs. He thinks that's annoying, she's just doing her best. Same with Ma. She's doing her best but you don't give her anything in return. She's right about you acting like a faggot. A fucked up, stupid little larvae that has yet to grow up and see how the world is. It's not forgiving, it's not cruel. It just is. You, Carolina, me, we shouldn't expect anything from ourselves, people should only expect from you. You'll end up as a disappointment either way."  
Fox Feet sunk to the ground, legs crossed, freeing their cell phone from its pajama pocket prison. Idiot.  
The light from the resting phone dared to challenge the moonlight. Their fingers slunk towards it, curious like a desperate little bird. Fox Feet stood in the device's welcoming glow, gently closing their eyes to escape the shadows behind them. But they remained even blacker in their mind.  
The phone vibrated in their grasp. A notification from one of their favorite blogs, properly named: small_catarmy. They opened the notification and saw a gif of a black kitten basking in the moonlight. There was no caption on the photo, it was just standalone, and that made it beautiful. A graceful little creature, all on it’s own.


	2. Welcome to Hound Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The human mind is a fickle thing, especially when one isn't even sure if they deserve this cognisant life. Dakota Tyler works in retail like most twenty-whatevers and suffers with having to deal with the rude customers they face daily and the rude voices of their past selves in their head. But that all changes when some repressed memories come to light from the view of a few rowdy jocks...

Lunch was thirty minutes ago... Dakota clears their throat, cracking their fingers underneath the counter, resenting the ever-expanding line of customers. Sale day. Customers lined up with piles of clothes and shoes and movies and books, one woman had a basket filled to the brim with glass decorations that Dakota wanted to have the pleasure of breaking one by one. The same way the scanning beep of each of those items would gradually chip away at their sanity. 67 beeps later and they could probably go eat something.

"Are you part of our rewards club?" Carolina echoes in Dakota's head but no words escape their lips as they gaze at the weed-scented teenager. He clearly wasn't, no use wasting breath. They felt Carolina tug in their brain but ignored her.

She made Dakota worry.

They had used her voice, Carolina's, for the phone interview and when River pulled the strings to get Dakota the shit colored vest, they drained their head of the training videos and Carolina's voice, replaced with apathetic uninterest, a rehearsed low tone and muscle memory. Scan. Bag. Scan. Bag. Scan. Bag.

Hound Hole was stupidly huge. The sliding front doors weren't enough to barricade the employees from the foaming-mouthed customers itching to get their junk. Bright red price tags acting like the red capes of matadors as the herds trample through the aisles. The carts near the front door act like battering rams as customers weave and fight their way through the center aisles of shoes and media, knocking over winter boots and weak-spined picture books to get at the cheap, used furniture in the far left corner of the store. Parents swerving through the electronics aisle to get at the half-priced sports gear and office supplies. Late back to school shopping. Dakota has a horrendously wonderful view of all of it, register 9 sitting right between the office supplies and wretched sports gear, dads fight over who touched the golf club first. Its a truly despicable display of humanity. But register 9 is the farthest away from the dressing rooms, sorting racks, the bathroom, the breakroom. And, of course, the front door.

"Do I have any coupon?" Dakota's eyes sluggishly climbed the body of a blond polish lady. She's built like one of the donation crates, wide enough to carry a questionably stained couch from this register to the furniture section.

Dakota sighs, clearing their throat. Deepen the voice. Not girly. Not annoying. Not like Carolina. Purposely unamused. "Type your phone number into the card machine and I can check."

The customer nodded and Dakota's poison-ivy eyes watched her struggle with fat fingers on the tiny card keypad. Dakota let out an even deeper sigh, scratching the newly scabbed stripes on their wrist. They flare their nostrils as the customer takes her time, feeling Fox Feet hiss in the back of their throat.

"Stupid bitch. Taking too long. You're never gonna get out of here. Look at that line. It takes 30 seconds to type in a phone number and her time is already up."

Dakota's gaze fixed on the screen, a barrage of rectangles with useless text and buttons that they never read or tapped without River's help. They looked at the woman's name, phone number and-

"You have a 20% off coupon." Flatly. "But you can save it for another day."

The customer frowned. My god. "Why can't I use it today?"

Video regurgitating. "Only one discount per customer, no coupons on sale days."

"Oh. Okay." The woman began to pile on her glass figures and porcelain babies.

Dakota felt Carolina make their fingers tingle as they picked up a figure that looked shockingly like Carolina at five. "Looks like something Auntie would buy-"

"Shut the fuck up about Auntie, you pathetic little bitch." Fox Feet hisses, Dakota taking a deep breath to reset their brain. Fox Feet didn't like Carol. Neither did Dakota but they felt bad for her. She was just trying. Like Dakota. Just trying.

"Don't feel sorry for her. She isn't even supposed to be here. Why is she still here? Oh yeah, because you still hate yourself, you hate that you're still seen as a girl. You hate that the only thing you'll ever be seen as is her, pathetic little her. Whiney little girl. Mopey little Carol crying under the Christmas tree. Ironic, isn't it? Christmas carols are supposed to be cheerful but instead, she hates the very sight of her scrawny arms, pink lips, and Mama's hips-"

"That'll be $45.57, miss." Dakota handed their customer a small, ingenuine smile as she slid her card into the keypad.

"I'm talking to you, Fag." Dakota clenches their jaw, a way to keep Fox Feet down.

They weren't Carolina anymore, they hadn't been since middle school. She was gone. At least she was supposed to be. But they were Fox Feet for longer than they were ever Dakota. "Dakota" came from a stupid joke their history teacher made.

"North Dakota is the most boring place in the world," Dakota watched his neck fat swing back and forth like a turkey's snood. "You could fall asleep while driving and wake up in the exact same place you knocked out. It's just flat." The class thought it was funny and the teacher placed a satisfactory hand on his beer gut. He looked directly at Dakota but they never gave him so much as a nose exhale.

"The most boring place in the world. Like you." Fox Feet lingered in the reflection of the phone. Every shape of them was reflected on what Dakota saw in a mirror, just twisted, mangled, wounded. Blood red hair, thin lime green eyes that glowed in nightmares, vicious grinning teeth and a tongue like a snake. A true nightmare. This isn't what Dakota saw in the reflection of their phone screen, it was who they knew was there. Dakota didn't see Fox Feet as them. They refused to. But Fox Feet saw Dakota as a blemish, an inferiority. Something to be exterminated.

"You're boring. You're pathetic. No wonder River and Joshi left you here. The most boring person should stay in a shithole because they won't care either way. 'The most boring place in the world'? You'd probably have it beat. People look at you and that's a good enough excuse to fly to North Dakota."

You're right, Dakota thought. They reached into their bag and took out their nicest pen, the pen they only used for tracing their favorite sketches. They drew a lot in high school.

They scribbled out F.F Tyler on the top right corner of their worksheet and wrote 'Dakota Tyler'. Fox Feet caused their neck to tense up, ginger hair rising, trying to restrain them and put fear in their heart, but Dakota allowed their heart to beat with a rapid pleasure. Fox Feet's insult was combated with Dakota's actions. Dakota won. Dakota Tyler; it looked better than any other name they'd been given.

Dyke.

Faggot.

Fairy.

Cunt.

Bitch.

Psycho.

Idiot.

Tranny.

That was only two years ago. Only two years ago they looked at Fox Feet-Dakota looked at Fox Feet-and told them to fuck off. It didn't fully work but it gave Dakota power. Fox Feet still lingers as Carol does, popping into their head whenever Fox Feet so pleased but Dakota has control of the reigns now. They know how to defeat distressing desires instead of acting on them. Even the only way is a painful way in itself. They scratch the skin under the rubber band around their wrist as the next customer comes forward.

Apathetic muscle memory. Dakota hadn't noticed just how quickly they scanned through everyone as they were occupied with their thoughts. The line was down to three families with what looked like back-to-school necessities in single carts but at a fraction of the retail price. Dakota let out another sigh, reset the brain and started reciting the speech they'd been given on their first days of training.

"Are you a member of our rewards club?"

Thankfully, most of the customers said no, excluding a brunette in her thirties trying to look for the rewards number in her phone so she could see if she had any coupons for the 18th sundress she was going to buy. She didn't find it.

Dakota leaned over the counter and sighed. They heard River clomp over in his boots and dodged a slap on the back.

"Good job out there, Kota! Ya did great handlin' all that." He gave them a big grin.

Dakota just nodded, staring out the window, looking past any posters shielding the view. The parking lot was full but not as full as Hound Hole. The autumn sun beat down on minivans, trucks and used Chevy's. Every other section of the mall was packed with exclusively minivans, parents picking up their kids then running errands; Yooni's, the frozen yogurt place, packed. The flower shop, packed. The grocery store, even though that wasn't surprising, packed. Even that little chinese place.

Dakota furrowed their eyebrows, pushed their shoulders forward, eyes closed in a content stretch when they heard River laugh. Their eyebrows fell.

"What?" They didn't look at him.

"Yer just like a cat or somethin'. Quiet. Contemplatin'."

"Or a fox..." They hated that he heard that. But he didn't really laugh. Or react at all. He just looked at them with the admiration he has when he looks at his little Robin. A fox and a robin. Some sort of stupid symbolism. Some sort of stupid comfort.

"I gotta go pick up Robin from school, alright?" He tapped the screen of their register, small-fonted 3:00 p.m staring directly at both of them. "You go on ahead and have lunch, alright?"

"Alright." Dakota waited for him to walk ahead of them a bit before following, his broad shoulders filling out the grey shirt nicely, his freckled arms no longer the skinny noodles they were when he was in Kansas. He was only 4 years older than Dakota, only 23 but grew into his height wonderfully, his hair cut so that Robin wouldn't grab it when he was giving her piggyback rides, the front swooping over a clean forehead, the red fading into blond the closer the shave was to his head. He was a unique kind of pretty up here but down there, he was the highest standard, even if he could barely control his long limbs.

Slipping through the newly sorted racks, weaving around furniture and going the long way to the break room, Dakota did their best to avoid conversation. They didn't feel like holding a conversation right now. It would most likely be about Robin. Or Joshi. Family stuff. Real family stuff. And Dakota would just nod. Listen more than talk. But they barely have the energy to do that right now.

Dakota felt the sun shining on their face as they listened to the sound of River driving north to the elementary school in the sky blue pick-up. It was parked in the back of the building, where all the employees sulk or smoke and where all the benevolent donors give up their precious junk to the Hound Hole donation center. River sold the red one for a good price, he told Dakota in one of their many awkward silences. Got him and Joshi the money for Robin's daycare. Dakota never asked where or who he sold it too. But they were curious, it was Dad's old pickup afterall. Dad's stolen pickup.

Dakota bit into their sandwich, breathing in musty urban air as they sat on the back steps in the sun. The air gave the sandwich a weird taste. They wondered if Robin had the same lunch. Joshi usually made all of their lunches at the same time.

She was tiny. Robin.Well, she was a child, for one but she had the same petite shape that Dakota had when they were Carol. But Robin likes to wear the dresses River buys her and she loves the sneakers Joshi gets for her even if they both match. Sundress and sneakers. Lollipops and beetles.

Dakota never really got Robin a gift unless it was a drawing. Clothes were stupid and complicated, overly priced fabric that, for some reason, made everyone judge you. When people saw River in his clean work shirt, blue-jeans and work boots, they saw a hard worker. When they saw Joshi in her hoodie, skinny jeans and headphones, holding her daughter's hand people saw a laid back parent. When they saw Robin in her sneakers and sundress, a lollipop stick moving frantically around her mouth, she was a cute little girl exploring herself.

Dakota was some sort of dyke. Some sort of faggot. Some sort of complication that the world didn't need right now.

Everyone cared what Dakota was, even more than Dakota. What's their name? Is that their real name? Why do they wear sweaters in June? Why are their ears stretched? Why do they always look so sad? Why do they always look so pissed?

They made sure they stood out from those three. This arrangement was only temporary. Dakota's hair was blue and pink, a failed attempt at a galaxy dye job, but it did what it was supposed to do. Cover up the red. They stretched their ears, 9.5 millimeters. You could stick a pencil in there. And Robin did. Once.

Dakota didn't stop there. Destroying their hair and mutilating their ears wasn't enough. They had four tattoos. All of them big black X's to symbolize that they were straight edge. Addiction runs in the family. They had to be extra careful. No drinking. No smoking. No drug use. Not like they had the company to do it with anyway.

The tattoos were on the inside of both forearms and on each ankle. Dakota wanted them hidden. The tattoos were only there to remind Dakota that they're a human with a moral compass that can't be changed. Mama called it stubborn.

As soon as they saved up enough for their own place, they'd be out of River's way. He could have his normal family back and Dakota at a distance, like cousins are supposed to be. As much as they love him, they know they're intruding. He had a kid. He had a wife. He had a store to run. He didn't need Dakota.

"You're always causin' trouble..." Mama said that but it manifested into Fox Feet's voice. "You freeloading piece of-"

Dakota pulled the rubber band on their wrist, replacing mental pain with a physical sting. Reset their brain. They did this until they could feel the warmth of their own blood run down their sweater sleeve.

Rolling their neck until it cracked, Dakota stood from the warmth of the concrete stairs then got back to work. The store was mostly empty. Dakota let out a yawn, walking through the dusty storage room, planning on making their coworkers help them start taking down Halloween decorations and put up the simple Thanksgiving ones. Charity thrift stores like this always thrived around the holidays. Time of giving or some shit.

Then they heard it.

Hideous, loud, raucous laughter that could only come from the mouths of hyper pre-teen boys or frat boys. The voices were deep, so it was definitely frat boys. Dakota didn't even want to reimagine the horror stories they heard from university transfers at their community college. Frat boys and sorority girls were plagues upon the college social circles, especially if you were queer. Usually homophobic, transphobic, blatantly racist, Dakota didn't look forward to hearing more slurs being thrown at them even after dropping out.

They froze at the sight of jersey clad jocks, purple and yellow assaulting their poison ivy eyes with a fervor they wish they could stamp out. There were six of them. Running around the toy and furniture section with energy that could be mistaken for psychosis.

"Kenji! Set it up!" The tallest one, brunette, pale skin, no top lip, shoulders broad and sculpted then down to his slender body. These boys didn't play football. He had the sweet watery eyes of a baby deer. That's what Dakota decided to call him. Baby deer. Bambi.

A stuffed manatee was flung into the air with impressive precision, considering its shape, arcing towards Bambi so he could catch it or hit it or do whatever stupid shit he was going to do. Dakota's eyes followed the arcing manatee towards its tosser: A thin, long-haired boy with a face as sharp as a stealthy feline, eyes like honey and chocolate and hair that desperately needed to be re-dyed. Dakota saw his dark black roots trying to take over his yellow-blond locks. He looked as unamused as Dakota.

They heard the stuffed animal impact Bambi's fists and heard a loud cheer from behind one of the clothes racks. It was another tall one, mocha skin, veins in his muscled arms and legs that were lengthy but looked right with his stature, not like he hadn't grown into them. His hair was cropped and his smile was as bright as the fluorescent lights that reflected in his blue eyes. He was a mixed beauty. If only he wasn't so fucking loud as he slapped Bambi on the back. Blue Jay, Dakota decided to call him.

Following the loud Blue Jay came the shortest of them all, an absolute force to be reckoned with, hair brighter than Dakota's when they were Caroline. The red-head ran after Blue Jay in the purple and yellow jersey that fit surprisingly nicely, the only concern being the length, a bright number 3 on both sides of the jersey. This red-head had to be shorter than Dakota and they were. When the red-head ran past Dakota, their eyes were directed down.

The red-head paused when Dakota's vest was in sight. "Oh, hi!"

"Hi."

The red-head grinned at Dakota then continued to the rest of the team, bouncing up and down around Bambi like a fully charged Energizer bunny, slapping him on the back like a drum. Dakota couldn't imagine those three on a caffeine binge.

"Why don't you dumbasses use a real ball?" There's more...

Dakota stayed in place, watching who they hoped were the remaining two left. One had tattoo sleeves in intricate patterns all the way up his toned arms to his broad shoulders. Tatted to bits. A backwards hat in the same colors as the jersey he wore and a shit-eating grin on his chiseled, symmetrical face. His eyes were big like Bambi's but reflected more green and gold than brown. A weird kinda hazel, Dakota guessed. He was any straight cheerleader's dream. Hell, he was a little bit of Dakota's dream...

Tatted to Bits tossed a volleyball into the air and his buddy next to him set it with one hand to the rest of the team. Of course. Volleyball. Dakota should've known from the stupid tan lines and hair pulled away from all of their stupid jock faces.

Dakota hated jocks. They hated anyone or anything that resembled sports, especially if it was a group of cisgender hooligans yelling in the middle of one of the busiest days of the week during an hour where everything slows down because parents are picking up kids from school so it was the only valuable time where Dakota could stare at the parking lot and contemplate the fleeting responsibilities of a retail salesclerk.

But, mostly, high school jocks put a bad taste in Dakota's mouth. When Dakota cut their hair, every boy in a jersey started calling them a dyke. It was the only insult that actually pissed Dakota off, they heard "bitch" and "dumbass" enough at home. But they weren't a girl. Soft lips and Mama's hips didn't help at all in that argument. They still had boobs. They still had soft, pinchable freckled cheeks that turned red in the sun along with an orange ponytail of hair that they twisted and hid under beanies.

Dakota's classmates hid the beanies under desks or shoved them in the toilets of the girl's bathroom. They only stopped when Dakota cut their hair, resulting in cannon fired insults instead of sling shot slurs. The class hated Dakota. No one was afraid to take it farther than the last.

Some of the soccer club and football players ran into the boy's locker room with Dakota's laptop.

It was hot, steamy and sweaty. Pan's labyrinth only Dakota would never want to spend eternity here. It would be worse than Hell. Worse than home. They heard the conspirators laughing and hitting the lockers with calloused fists to make Dakota jump, tensing up so they weren't ready. They remember gritting their teeth, suffocating a scream when one of the football players lifted them off the ground and pushed them into the corner between the water fountain and the handicap stall. One of the soccer players poked them in the chest.

"What are you a lesbian?"

"No."

"Yeah you are. Lesbian. Dyke. Fuckin' dyke!" The jocks laughed in their face. "Dyke! Dyke! Dyke!"

Dakota's eyes burned into the soccer player. He spit in their face.

"You like kissin' girls? How do you even fuck?"

"I bet it doesn't know how to fuck."

"Yeah-" The leader slapped his hand on Dakota's crotch, his fingers digging into their jeans. Their knees buckled. "What d'ya got down there, huh?"

Dakota gritted their teeth. "Don't touch me..."

"What? Don't like that?"

"Fuck you."

Everyone started laughing, pushing Dakota farther into the corner, poking at their chest and looping invasive fingers in their jeans. The jocks played tug-of-war with them until Dakota shoved one of them away. The reaction the conspirators were waiting for.

"Fuck you? You want us to fuck you?"

Dakota's eyes widened before they started kicking and screaming, their voice buried in deep laughs and their own heartbeat. They remember the hoodie coming off and their pants coming undone, feeling the cold concrete floor on their knees when they tried scrambling away. Just run away. No one could grab their hair, they had a chance to get away. Just get away.

They were yanked back by the collar, arms held down by one of the taller soccer players. His arms were like River's, not quite grown into them but he had a basic understanding of how to use them.

Dakota growled and kicked, screamed when cold hands touched their neck and stomach. Idiots. Horrible. Disgusting. Perverted. Twisted. Idiots.

They felt a salty hand go into their mouth so they bit down. Hard. Dakota's mouth was warm with a bloody, dirty, salty fingers before it was yanked away. The sound of skin against their teeth made them gag before they sprinted into the gym, holding their jeans up as they burst through the gym doors, ignoring the coaches, ignoring the hall monitors. Just running.

"Run until your lungs burn, you fucking dyke."

Dakota snapped out of it when they felt sweet brown eyes on them. They swallowed hard, poison ivy darting to a jaw dropping slightly, plump lips brown and pink lips and white teeth gazing at their silhouette. He ran a hand through his hair, thick shiny crow hair, face softening at the sight of Dakota. Their body involuntarily giving in to that gentle gaze, their shoulders lower in relaxation and comfort.

He was shorter than Tatted to Bits, Bambi and Blue Jay but taller than the other two. His skin reminded Dakota of the brown the corn stalks turn in autumn when Dad yelled at them to get him the keys to the shed. His hair was black and shiny, a crow's feathered nest over the chlorophyll drained crops, tied into a small ponytail that dusted the back of his neck, shoulders broad like the others. He was built like his ancestors blessed his genes so hard they decided to compensate by making him a little shorter than the other boys. His jaw was quiet but defined, not exaggerated like Tatted to Bits.

Dakota swallowed hard, a tingle running through their legs and repulsion closing their throat.

"He's cute..." Carolina whispered.

Shut up, Dakota thought. Shut up.

They forced themselves to remember that this was his team wrecking up their store while River was out, fucking around like no one would have to clean up this mess after they left. Like Dakota wasn't even there. Their face started to harden again, the speed of their heartbeat quickening with rage instead of attracted curiosity.

But it was clear he saw them. He pursed his lips and scratched the back of his head, sweet brown eyes locked on Dakota so he couldn't move his muscled legs. He took a single step forward then lingered back, the grey and purple sneaker hovering over the linoleum floor for a second. He was hesitant to approach them.

Dakota wanted it to be out of fear. They wanted him to be startled by their unamused face and pissed off stance but he wasn't phased. His head tilted slightly like a curious mutt, a small smile forming on his face. He pursed his lips again before stepping between the couches to get closer to Dakota. Their heart rate quickened in a fight or flight response to his movement.

Luckily it was stopped by stupidity. Dakota's gaze turned onto Blue Jay who was now, somehow, choking on a plastic glove. Dakota furrowed their eyebrows in confusion, the only other emotion they allowed the jocks to see before returning to their resting bitch face when Blue Jay spit out the glove.

"UNGH! That was nasty!" He exclaimed.

Carrot Baby ran up to him."I thought I killed you!"

"Nah, nah, nah. Takes more than that to kill me." He waved like this was a casual conversation.

Tatted to Bits rolled his eyes. "Mom would've killed you first before that glove could."

Ponytail snickered, eyes trailing away from Dakota. "Here lies ya boy Uriah. Trash in life and garbage in death."

That sparked an idea in Blue Jay's head. "Oh, we should have a dumpster fire-"

"That's incredibly illegal maybe." Bambi picked up the saliva covered glove with his thumb and forefinger and threw it at Ponytail. Ponytail dodged it but Dakota didn't. Their face was wet and cold, tainted by the scent of cigarettes and post-workout breath. They restrained a gag reflex, eyes fixed on the empty space between the teammates.

"OH."

"Shit-!" Ponytail ran up to them, whipping the wet monstrosity off their face and onto the floor, his long fingers hovering over their face. "I'm so sorry-"

"Don't touch me." Dakota hissed like Fox Feet.

"What the hell is goin' on in here?" River accompanied by the sound of the front doors sliding open. "What're you guys doin' to my cashier?!" He stomped over, barricading Ponytail from getting any closer to Dakota. He gazed at his little cousin with puppy dog eyes, taking out a pack of tissues from his deep jean pocket. He dropped them into Dakota's hands before whipping around so fast, Dakota felt the wind on the wet part of their face.

"I told you guys-!" River's face was red with irritation. He had seen them before? "I told ya'll this ain't a playground! I'll let you hang around the store as long as ya don't annoy my employees or my customers! And ya broke rule number one! The only rule!"

Carrot Baby stood at the front of the group. "We're sorry...it was my fault-"

"No, Ari," Tatted to Bits put a hand on Ari's shoulder.

"I know it wasn't jus' one a' ya'll! I oughta call Coach John to pick ya'll up in his mini-van and give you the beratin' of a lifetime before ya'll's Mama's do!"

Dakota saw Blue Jay and Tatted to Bits turn white, all the color from their faces drained immediately. River wasn't much older than them, they had to be close to Dakota's age or a little younger. They looked like fresh college idiots but River talked to them like he was actually a manager.

"P-please don't do that."

River turned to Ponytail, towering over him like a mighty oak. "And you."

"And me..." Ponytail sighed.

"What would your daddy say if he saw what ya'll were doin'?"

Ponytail made a face and shrugged his shoulders a bit."I don't want to think about it."

"Well then," River growled. "Why don't we find out? Or get outta my store!"

Ponytail gave him a nervous smile and raised a finger. "How about we buy something...then get out of your store?"

River leaned forward. "How 'bout you get outta my store."

The jocks nodded, Bambi taking Ponytail by the shoulders and pushing him out, the rest of the team following suit. River stood there with his hands on his hips next to Dakota, watching them get into their car and leave, Ponytail glancing back occasionally to see Dakota. A shiver ran through their spine.

River sighed, his shoulders loosening. "Take a fifteen-minute. I don' know how long those guys were keepin' you busy for..."

"Not long." Dakota was honest. It was about 20 minutes after they had their lunch and the store needed to be reorganized. They couldn't get Ponytail's eyes off their mind. They wanted to do anything but be alone with their thoughts right now.

The workday was peaceful until the last three hours. Dakota had spent their time sorting clothes, reorganizing book and CD shelves, occasionally checking out a stray customer with only one or two things. River went to the back to fill out some inventory loss paperwork after the pillage of stupidity. Dakota growled at the thought. Spoiled jocks with nothing better to do than cause chaos. If Dakota didn't have such a tightly sewn mouth, they would've ripped into them worse than River ever could.

Dakota returned to their register when they were satisfied with how clean the front was. They felt an odd tension in their back, shoulders rising to their ears as the sound of tires pulling up to the front parking lot cracked in their eardrums.

Fuck no.

One by one they slid out of the car. Bambi, Tatted to Bits, Blue Jay, Ari, Kenji and...

Ponytail.

Dakota gritted their teeth, forcing their face to remain in a neutral expression as the team of fuckheads filed into the store. River wasn't watching the cameras. He was doing paperwork. Dakota's three remaining coworkers were either sorting, cleaning the back of the store or organizing racks. Dakota felt the pinch of their tongue against gnashing molars.

The team stealthily avoided Dakota's gaze but Dakota kept their eyes locked on purple and yellow. They watch pairs split off into different aisles: two in the wood decoration aisle, two in the sports aisle, two in the furniture aisle.

Well.

One.

Kenji wandered to the furniture aisle and plopped down on a couch, his eyes fixating on his phone while Ponytail tried to weave between the aisles to stand at the CD and media section. The aisle closest to Dakota's register. They grit their teeth and crack their fingers under the counter.

Poison ivy eyes followed Ponytail's every move, piercing through pathetic attempts to look casual; pretending to read the backs of CDs, pulling them out and putting them back into the wrong places, glancing up at register 9 like a frantic bird to see if Dakota is even giving him the time of day. When he saw them looking, he would snap his head back towards the shelves, scared of being turned to stone by a dangerous gaze.

Dakota sighed heavily, running a hand down their exhausted face and looking at the vacant register screen. Their heart dropped to the squeaky linoleum floor as the time burned into their retinas: 5:06 p.m. Rush hour.

The empty parking lot would be flooded with commuters and students, coming down to Hound Hole just for a 'quick look' that would take three more hours of Dakota's life that they could never get back. Gaggles of college students like those idiots, parents and families squeezing past one another with overfilled carts after their 'quick looks'. Hangers would fall and snap on the floor, toys would be flung from every corner of the store, the back would be overrun with sales clerks avoiding the shadow of war, leaving Dakota to lead the front lines alone. Little kids would be screaming, big kids would be rowdy, parents would challenge other parents, baskets and carts would end up in the furniture aisle because no one has the common decency to put them back at the front once they don't need them. Dakota would be assaulted by questions that are clearly answered on posters surrounding the store, big fonts readable to a large percentage of Hound Hole's customers and if not, there were signs outside of the store.

Dakota dug their fingers into their palm. They couldn't play guard dog against the volleyball players, not when a stampede is rushing at Hound Hole with determined speed walks. Dakota's eyes darted to the window, already seeing a line of cars at the stoplight, waiting. Waiting to get their junk at 50% off.

They sighed. The time read 5:15. They couldn't escape to the back, they couldn't run to the fitting rooms, they couldn't go sort a rack or two. There was only them and whoever was at register 1 near the front door. He'd get hit by the wave first. Then customers would flood to Dakota's territory where office and sports supplies sat under the king of customer attention, the furniture section. If you needed a lamp, furniture section. If you needed some new pillows, there are baskets of 'em in the furniture section. If you needed a throw blanket, they were all folded neatly and placed on shelves in the furniture section. If you were moving into a new apartment, there isn't any better place to go other than Hound Hole's furniture section. On sale day.

Dakota's heart shuttered with anticipation as the sliding doors opened with an increasing tempo: one slide, two slides. Three slides. Four slides.

Then five. Six. Seven. Eight-

Eyes scanned the parameter of Dakota's workplace with glares that could only be suited for battle. Rainbows of hands gripping the handles of carts and baskets as customers speed walk through the aisles, guerilla warfare, dodging and weaving through the aisles and small sections to find the fastest way to get their shit and get the fuck out. Dakota knew it started when they heard the store's radio put on an advertisement for itself.

"We here at Hound Hole would like to thank you all for choosing our store to sniff through for more wonderful treasures!"

Oh fuck off, Dakota gritted their teeth. They sighed, closing their eyes for a moment before they snapped back open at the sound of the radio thanking...

"And thank you to the West Coast College volleyball team for allowing Hound Hole to sponsor the fundraiser for homeless youth!"

Blue Jay started shouting, a rhythm of clapping following his voice as he shouted: "Washington Waterbirds can I get an ooo! Ooo!"

"Ooo! Ooo!" A surprising amount of people reacted, not counting the team members themselves. Customers cheered and clapped, slapping some of the boys on their jersey-clad backs and high-fiving whoever wore that putrid purple and yellow.

Dakota felt Fox Feet making their blood boil, scratching underneath their white and brown counter. "Oh my god, oh my fucking god, are you fucking kidding me?! These half-baked pieces of sport jock garbage are being sponsored by the STORE?! By Hound Hole itself?! What a fucking circus, River is a fucking idiot-!" Dakota shook their head hard, mind screeching in Fox Feet's voice about the absolute insanity that had just occurred, only resenting the fact that it could only get worse.

They hadn't even noticed the line that began to form at register 9, Ponytail standing in the middle of it.

And so it began, the usual routine of scan. Bag. Scan. Are you part of our rewards club? Tap the screen. Bag. Scan. Bag. Scan. Are you part of our rewards club? Scan. Bag. Are you part of-no? Bag. Only, they had a speed that could never be matched by any other employee under River's management. Dakota took their job seriously, worked overtime, kept themselves at a distance from friendships and coworkers so they could avoid distractions. They were here to work, not to make friends, not to expose genuine concern for their customers, to follow a plan wrapped in a nice little video that they watched 87 goddamn times.

And they definitely were not here to flirt.

The sound of metal decor against the surface of a register counter was one of Dakota's most despised sounds. It scraped against their eardrums and made the holes in their earlobes vibrate uncomfortably. The stimulation was only made worse when their poison ivy met freshly wet soil. He smiled and Dakota's blood boiled.

This is your stupid fucking fault, you pompous, pretentious little son of a bitch, I bet your mom is a bitch, a stupid fucking bitch who didn't know where the line was to tell her to stop treating you like a fucking baby, a stupid, useless, ball of flesh that no one wants to-

Dakota sighed. Reset Fox Feet.

Ponytail's eyes softened as he gazed at Dakota, his chest shaking from a nervous inhale. Dakota felt their jaw unclench along with their hands, Carolina gracefully dancing on the chambers of their heart, Dakota's hands resting in front of them, just below their chest as they waited for him to put his purchase on the counter for them to scan. Carolina was point-toed as she melted at the sight of Ponytail, Dakota's shoulders falling to welcome him.

Dakota bit their tongue. Reset Carolina.

Their face hardened when they set eyes on the metal...decor. It was bent and twisted like a gnarled mess of tree branches, three of them ending at the top in flat circles that could hold a candle or put out a cigarette. It was rusted towards the inside, making Dakota cringe when they grabbed it, their soft, mauled fingers hissing at the horrible scrape and scent of copper against porcelain skin.

Scan.

Ponytail's eyes wandered to their name tag, shining in the fluorescent light; Dakota. Jesus Christ.

"Ah...Dakota!" He smiled, stupidly. "Heh, uh like the state!"

Dakota barely raised an eyebrow as they scanned his stupid candle holder. "Yeah. The state." Hopefully their obvious indifference would shoo him away. They cleared their throat, annoyed. Tapped their screen, annoyed. And opened a paper bag with Hound Hole's logo on it. Annoyed.

But that didn't deter him. "Heh, uh, North or South? My dad is from North Dakota, that's where his rez was-is. I mean, it's still mostly there. He stayed there until he was..." Ponytail pursed his pretty lips. "Like nineteen...like me! Well, I'm turning twenty in like a couple months but like-!" His eyes caught poison ivy again. He scratched the back of his head. "Uh...ah ha... H-he took a gap year! Or he was in the hospital, I don't remember, I'll probably remember around Christmas because he loves to tell that story. Heh, he loves to tell stories-"

Does he like to talk as much as his fuckhead son? Fox Feet hissed. "Idiot. Stupid. Stupid fucking jock idiot, staring at you like you're something to look at. You? Really? He probably just thinks you're some sexy edgy chick that he can high-five his cuck-ass friends about after he gets into you. He'll probably jizz in his shorts when he sees your tits when you raise your arms."

Ponytail continued. "Actually, I think he met my- no wait, he didn't meet any family until he got an internship and met my Dad at Pride, you ever been to Portland Pride? It's really-"

"Hey, baby boy, what's the hold-up?" Blue Jay taunted near the front door. "We got shit to do, balls to hit!"

"Yeah!" Ari, the little red-headed carrot baby. "You said you'd practice setting with me!"

"Stop twisting my nuts, I'm havin' a conversation with them, alright?"

Dakota's eyes widened, their body tensing, their heart racing until it lit a small bonfire. The fire warmed the chambers, the muscle in their chest wrapped in a grateful glow, a sudden affection turning their cheeks, ears and nose red. Their hands stopped shaking, the poison left their ivy and their shoulders lowered.

"I'm having a conversation with them, alright?"

"I'm sorry about that," He chuckled before catching their eyes. Dakota saw him put an arm behind his back, nervous, looking down at the counter. "Ah ha...uh, um...how much?"

Dakota snapped out of the trance, hardening their face as best they could. "That'll be $4.50, sir." Act like you don't care. "And your friend's left."

"What?!" That shut him up. Ponytail whipped around to face the window and saw Baby Deer and Blue Jay making faces at him and flipping him off as Ari tried to get Kenji's attention by shaking him back and forth.

If Dakota's eyebrows went any lower, they probably would've fallen off. He scrambled to grab his receipt and smiled that stupid smile again before tripping over a runaway tyke bike and running into the door. He rubbed his head as his pals shrieked with laughter, the door sliding open slowly, mockingly. Ponytail's failure masked the sound of an old stereo and fifty-six Cher CD's slamming on Dakota's counter. They scanned dollar-store Bobby Flay's obvious impulse purchases.

I need to get the fuck out of here, Dakota sighed. Their body still tingled with affection.

"I'm having a conversation with them alright?" His voice rang in their head, warming their chest.

"Oh shut the fuck up." Fox Feet choked the sound of Ponytail's voice out of Dakota's head. "We're already down four cashiers because his summer workers decided to go to college like those jocks and you're wet thinking about how he just happened to assume your pronouns? You know decent people have the worst secrets and from the look of it, he didn't wanna piss you off. He wants to get in your head so he can get in your pants. That's how they are." Fox Feet laughed, a hideous echo surging throughout Dakota's veins. "Even they're more successful than you. Look at you! Shitty hair, ripped up fingers, ripped up wrists, ripped up, ripped up, ripped up. You'd be a good fuck and run, a quickie and he's done. He doesn't want you, he wants your ass in his hands."

Dakota clenched their teeth, fighting back tears as they slowed their scanning pace from sale day to basic rush hour.

"You're stuck here." Dakota felt Fox Feet's words hit them like acidic hail. " 365 days a year, no holidays off unless River forces you to. Which he always does. You don't wanna spend your freedom with his little daughter and Joshi and-"

Shut up. They're family, Dakota sighed. Reset Fox Feet.

"Ha! 'Family' got you into this mess."

Shut the fuck up, they scratched the bottom of the counter as they waited for their customer's receipt. They nodded at the next customer in line.

"You shut the fuck up. You fuck up. You dyke. You faggot. You worthless piece of capitalism's twisted checker's game, fuck you. Running away only got you into a shitty city, a shitty job, a shitty apartment, you can't even afford to live with your shitty self and even if you could, you might kill yourself. You would kill yourself. Why don't you go and kill yourself?

Stop.

Go stand in front of a bus in the middle of rush hour.

Stop.

The line only got longer.

"Drink some of the bleach you use for that stupid head. Fuck it, bathe in it why don't you. Bathe until you're so white you fucking vanish."

I want to die I want to die I want to die I want to die I want to di-

They paused, pursing their lips and snapping the rubber band on their wrist, hard.

I just don't want to exist.

Snap.

I don't want to live as a breathing thing anymore.

Snap.

I wish I was a lamp.

Snap.

Or moss.

"How much?" Their customer slowly handed Dakota a coupon, a young girl with bright blond hair. They weren't even looking at the shirts she was buying when they scanned them.

They cleared their throat. "Sorry. That'll be $86.71."


End file.
